


Wishing only wounds the heart

by dreams_for_spring



Series: Tumblr prompts [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate season 8, And marries herself to Jon, Dany is a comedic villian, F/M, Mutual Pining, Tongue-in-cheek, Where Dany succeeds in taking Kings Landing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:14:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,541
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26027047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreams_for_spring/pseuds/dreams_for_spring
Summary: Sansa shifts uncomfortably in her seat, which has been placed carefully at the base of the steps to the Iron Throne, looming tall behind her. It is upon the throne that Queen Daenerys sits, perched as though upon a pile of bones.Today Dany is still, her face contorted in discomfort, and her head weighed down by so many braids Sansa thinks her neck liable to buckle and snap.They should be so lucky.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Series: Tumblr prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1890115
Comments: 15
Kudos: 75





	Wishing only wounds the heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wintersnow39](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wintersnow39/gifts).



> A quick ficlet for Wintersnow39, who gave me the prompt of Sansa having been taken hostage by Dany after she took KL. All the high lords of Westeros come to take Sansa’s hand in marriage, but Jon is overly jealous, just to spite Dany. Thank you for the prompt!
> 
> Very tongue-in-cheek writing incoming! I had some fun here and I've exaggerated Dany's character for comedic effect, so if you love Dany you may not want to read. Also, I went with the name Robert Arryn like in the books - everything else sticks to show canon. 
> 
> Title is from Wicked the Musical

“Presenting Lord Robert Arryn, Defender of the Vale, and Warden of the East,” a stiff voice announces, carrying through the din of the crowded throne room.

Sansa shifts uncomfortably in her seat, which has been placed carefully at the base of the steps to the Iron Throne, looming tall behind her. It is upon the throne that Queen Daenerys sits, perched as though upon a pile of bones.

Today Dany is still, her face contorted in discomfort, and her head weighed down by so many braids Sansa thinks her neck liable to buckle and snap.

They should be so lucky.

It is the last day of the marriage proclamations, making it clear to Sansa–and all in attendance for the way that Dany has begun to clap excitedly–that Dany favours Lord Robert to be Sansa’s suitor.

She knows that it is only Jon and her promise to marry whomever Dany wishes that keeps her alive, else she’d be just as dead as Cersei is now. Sometimes she thinks that would’ve been preferable, for Dany’s demands grow ever more unhinged with each passing month.

How strange it is that the less power one has, the harder they fight to keep hold.

Lord Robert walks forward through the crowd of lords and ladies, here to gawk at the Lady Stark, the Warden of the North and Lady of Winterfell. It’s a hollow title in truth, just as Jon’s–he is no more a King than she a Warden. Instead they are both prisoners here, having their strings pulled like marionette dolls by a queen whose notion of breaking the wheel was simply to mold it to her own will. 

The whole spectacle of this day strikes her as somewhat hypocritical. She cannot help but think that a ruler who calls herself progressive–and certainly torching half the city could be seen as a sort of progression, though perhaps not in the direction many would have preferred–would have abolished at least some of the patriarchy.

Instead, Dany has embraced it, marrying herself to Jon to secure the Targaryen legacy, and vowing to marry off Sansa as well. If the rumours are true though, and they often are in a city like King's Landing where even the thickest castle walls seem to hear every word, it will do little good. Whatever legacy Dany has created will die with her–a fitting end for the queen of ashes, she thinks wryly.

Sansa lets her eyes drift back to watch Jon. Normally she is more careful than this, for Dany grows ever more paranoid too–but with each day it becomes more difficult to ignore him. There are so many things that they never said, and they haven’t had a moment alone to speak since he took the Northern army to King's Landing.

But even if they did, what could she possibly say? What words could she conjure to explain to him how angry he makes her, how she cannot forgive him, and how maddening it is that despite all that, whenever she sees him all she wants is for him to hold her? Even now, with his eyes narrowed in contempt and his hands digging into the hard steel of the decidedly smaller throne Dany has had parked beside her own, he is so handsome it is almost painful to look upon him.

“You’d have her marry her cousin?” Jon seethes under his breath, though not so quietly as for Dany not to hear.

“Perhaps not the cousin you’d prefer her to marry,” Dany bites back, glaring first at Jon, then at Sansa.

Sansa snaps her head back round in surprise as quickly as she can, trying to ignore the flame that creeps up her neck at the words. Perhaps Dany has been watching Jon these past few days of proclamations just as closely as she has. 

It is enough to make her feel just the smallest hint of guilt and sympathy for Dany, before she remembers that she is a prisoner here by Dany's behest, that any day she too could be fed to one of the dragons.

Even now, the sound of their massive flapping wings can be heard in the distance, no doubt looking for a roost that will not crumble under their massive weight. Half the Red Keep has fallen already to such attempts. Perhaps it would do the dragons good to go a day or two without a meal, Sansa thinks idly, if not to spare the townsfolk, then at least to spare the masonry.

She can still feel Jon's molten stare on her as Lord Robert reaches her, and she stands to give him a perfunctory curtsy.

Sweetrobin has grown tall and comely, but all she can see when she looks at him is the same boy who whined and cried and sucked upon his mother’s teat at the age of eight. She tries to hide her revulsion when he lifts her hand and places a wet kiss upon it.

“There is not a woman in the realm half as beautiful as you,” he declares.

Before he can continue though, they are interrupted by the harsh, loud sound of a throat clearing far above them.

Lord Robert pales as his eyes track upward to the throne. “I–that is to say, except for my Queen of course.”

Sansa does not dare look behind her, but she hears the distinct sound of Jon snorting softly, and Dany shifting angrily in her seat. 

“My lord is too kind,” she demurs gently. “We all shine a little brighter in the grace of our Queen.”

Lord Robert shuffles his feet in embarrassment, and releases her hand from his grip. “I suppose you know why I am here.”

“I suppose I do,” she replies. It’s hardly the most romantic proposal she has been given, but it’s not the least either. It seems most of her suitors have become rather tongue-tied in the presence of Jon’s stare.

“Will you do me the honour of being my wife, of bringing the Vale and the North together once more?” He asks, with all the diminutive flourish of a man who is watching the greatest swordsman in Westeros palm the pommel of his sword.

Before she can answer, Jon stands and takes two steps forward, until his boots are visible in the periphery of her vision. Where Dany takes to the finer things in life and dresses in fine Meerish lace and silk from Asshai, Jon still wears the same muddy boots he always has. It has become a source of endless amusement for Sansa, precisely because it vexes Dany so.

“She will not,” Jon growls out sharply. 

His words cut through them all like a hot knife, and suddenly it seems as though everything that has been left unsaid has spilled out onto the floor; all of Jon's promises and declarations laid bare before the court. In another life, she thinks he would have been able to keep them all, and she would have been granted the peace to live out her days in the safety of Winterfell, with him by her side. 

Lord Robert steps backwards in surprise, half falling down the wide, shallow steps that separate them from the petty lords and ladies, who seem to hang on the precipice of uncomfortable silence and roaring laughter. “I–well–” Lord Robert manages to stammer, before Dany cuts back in.

“–Yes, she will.” Her voice is commanding, and it echoes sharply through the throne room.

People begin to murmur uncomfortably, no doubt regretting their decision to attend this day’s court. It is beginning to shape up rather like the one two moons ago, when the small council became two men smaller.

“Sansa,” Jon says, placing a hand on her shoulder as he does. His bare skin touches her own and she can feel it turn to gooseflesh. She wonders if he can sense the shiver that skates through her body every time he touches her, and if that is why he finds opportunity to touch her, just to elicit the reaction. Somehow that thought is thrilling to her, and she allows her mind to dwell on it for a moment too long.

It is precisely then that Dany lets out a sound rather like a bird who’s had a feather plucked, and Jon quickly pulls back his hand, knowing he has taken one step too far.

Yet in her mind, it is simultaneously not enough. She can feel her own anger begin to bubble up from within, held back by a single, worn thread. She wants to push him, wants to fling herself into his arms; she wants to slap him for his presumption, and bury her face into the hollow of his throat.

She takes a deep breath and carefully folds her hands one over the other in her lap.

“You cannot seriously wish to marry this–this child,” Jon continues severely, eyeing Lord Robert.

Lord Robert merely stands stock still, no doubt wishing that it is possible to stand so still that one turns into a statue. That must seem preferable to his current predicament, Sansa thinks.

“I see no other reasonable prospects,” she challenges, letting her eyes flick back to Jon’s. “Do you?”

* * *


End file.
